


Invitation

by 1848pianist



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1848pianist/pseuds/1848pianist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan convinces Combeferre to take a break and see a dance recital with him. There may be another motive behind the invitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkswinterfelling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkswinterfelling/gifts).



It was weeks like this one that made Combeferre regret his double major. Typing the final words of his essay and knowing that he would never find the energy to edit it, he vowed that next semester he would spend an entire weekend completing every paper, reading assignment, and project on his classes syllabi so that he would never have to panic at a deadline again. As he relished the feeling of being _finished_ , at least for the moment, a knock came at his door.

Jehan was standing outside his room, dressed to go out. For him, this meant even more unusual clothes than his normal attire, but the fact remained that Jehan clearly had somewhere to be.

“You look a mess,” he said, looking at the books strewn around Combeferre’s dorm and guessing that his friend had probably gone at least one night without sufficient sleep.

“Finals week,” Combeferre explained. “What’s the occasion?”

“Well,” Jehan said brightly, “That’s why I’m here. You need a break, and I have an idea.”

“So do I. Sleeping.”

“Time for that tomorrow. Come and see the student dance recital with me.”

“Why?” Combeferre asked, exhaustion making him blunt.

“Don’t tell me you forgot that Grantaire invited us.”

“He didn’t exactly _invite_ us.” Most days, Combeferre barely remembered that Grantaire was a dancer, since he mentioned it so little. He had said something about the recital, but a passing comment was hardly an invitation, unless you were Grantaire.

“Oh, you know him,” Jehan said. “And anyway, I told him I’d be there, and I hardly want to go alone.”

Combeferre considered. There couldn’t be _that_ many performers.

“Fine,” he agreed.

“Great,” Jehan said. “Get dressed and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

 

The auditorium wasn’t exactly packed when they arrived. For one, Jehan was chronically early to everything, the better to people-watch. In any case, the dance department, while accomplished, wasn’t the most popular activity on a Thursday night, especially during finals. And since the recital actually _was_ a final for many of the performers, most of the students in attendance were friends providing support rather than seekers of campus culture. At least finding good seats wasn’t hard.

Combeferre glanced over the program while they waited. Photos of the dancers were included, so Combeferre skimmed those rather than reading the list of names, majors, and class years.

“See anybody you know?” Jehan asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I think he’s in my world government class,” Combeferre replied, pointing to a smiling, curly-haired boy.

“You know Courfeyrac?” Jehan looked at him inquisitively.

“Only by sight.” Combeferre only knew that Courfeyrac was talkative and extremely opinionated, or so he seemed in discussions.

“Small world. He’s in my photography class, too.”

“A true Renaissance man,” Combeferre quipped.

Then the recital started, and Combeferre tried to be as interested as Jehan seemed to be. In truth, he paid more attention to the music than the dancers, though of course he was impressed by some of the more elaborate moves. He didn’t know much about what he was watching, though, and most of it was lost on him. As he watched one girl perform a particularly athletic sequence, he resolved to find out more about ballet during the break, if only to appreciate what he was currently watching.

Courfeyrac appeared on the stage after her. Combeferre wondered how he would compare to the previous display, since his major was in political science rather than dance. He must be excellent to have made it into a recital that was mostly senior students, Combeferre thought.

As he watched, though, he realized that while Courfeyrac was talented, he was really no more outstanding than any of the other dancers. On the other hand, he seemed to be enjoying himself more than they had. He wasn’t smiling nearly as much as he had been in the program, yet everything about his movements seemed positively beaming with happiness.

“He’s good,” Jehan whispered, hardly turning his head away from the stage.

“I know,” Combeferre replied, just as enthralled.

For the rest of the recital, even Grantaire’s piece, Combeferre couldn’t stop replaying Courfeyrac’s dance in his mind.

 

“Come on,” Jehan said once the recital was over. “I’m going to introduce you to Courfeyrac.”

“It’s not as if I won’t see him in class,” Combeferre protested.

“You said you only knew him by sight. Let’s go talk to him.” Combeferre allowed himself to be dragged backstage into the crowd of dancers and well-wishers. While Jehan looked around for a sign of Courfeyrac, Combeferre waved to Grantaire, who was leaving.

“Found him,” Jehan reported.

“Hi!” Courfeyrac said enthusiastically as they reached him. “I know you two. You’re in my—”

“—world government class,” they said at the same time. Courfeyrac laughed.

“And the soon-to-be-world-famous poet-photographer,” he added, greeting Jehan, who grinned in return.

“I’m Combeferre,” said Combeferre.

“Courfeyrac, though I assume you already knew that. I didn’t know you were interested in dance.”

“I was here to see a friend, actually. Grantaire.”

“Oh, right. Hope he does well on his final – the instructor’s a _bitch_ for technique, no room for originality if you ask me. Grantaire’s good, though.”

“So are you.” Combeferre blushed as he blurted it out.

“Thanks!” Courfeyrac replied, smiling wider than his program photo. “Hey, what are you doing tonight? I’ve been meaning to talk to you after that lecture last week. The way you shot the teacher down? That was _cool_.”

Combeferre noticed with resignation that Jehan had conveniently slipped away.

“Um, nothing, I suppose. And thanks.”

“Sure. Where should we go? I bet the student café is still open.”

“Uh, sounds good. Sorry. I’m not normally this incoherent.”

Courfeyrac grinned again. “I tend to have that effect.”

 

“So, how long have you been dancing?” Combeferre asked as they walked, making conversation.

“Just since I got here. Like, hey, I’m at university. I can do whatever I want. So I just went for it.”

“The same could be said for a number of other activities,” Combeferre pointed out.

“You caught me,” Courfeyrac admitted. “I’m a chronic joiner. I’ll sign up for anything. But really, I’ve always liked dancing.”

“At least you’re well-rounded.”

“Yes, and there’s that. What about you? Any secret talents normally forbidden to political science students?”

“I’m actually majoring in biology as well. Don’t tell anyone from world government.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Courfeyrac said, miming throwing away a key. Combeferre rolled his eyes, but he was laughing.

“So, you’re a doctor with a concern for the wider world’s social issues?” Courfeyrac went on as they neared the café. “Sounds like a recipe for stress.”

“Sometimes. What about you? What keeps you from running out of lectures on foreign law to join the ballet?”

“It must be my bleeding heart for the less fortunate. Or maybe I just like to argue. Or, most likely, I would like a paying job at some point.”

“If that were true, you’d be a business major.”

“Okay, it really is because I like to argue, then. Tell you what, and speaking of payment, I’ll buy your coffee if you do me a favor.”

“What’s the favor?” Combeferre asked.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Coffee first. It’s finals week, so you can’t refuse the caffeine.”

 

“So. The favor,” Combeferre said as Courfeyrac handed him his drink.

“Don’t worry, you haven’t agreed to anything awful. I just need an accompanist to practice with for next semester. Only on weekends, since that’s when my current one refuses to come in.”

Combeferre blinked. “How did you know I play?”

“Well, Jehan _may_ have told me a little about you…”

“He told you I play the piano?”

“…when I asked. And I may have hinted that he could invite you to the recital. But I swear, if it looked like you weren’t having fun I would have left you alone.”

“So Jehan set us up…because you asked him to?”

“That’s right,” Courfeyrac said, taking a sudden interest in the amount of sugar in his coffee. An awkward pause followed.

“I actually don’t need to practice that much on weekends, either,” Courfeyrac admitted.

“Well,” Combeferre said, “would you like an accompanist anyway?”


End file.
